


Family Don't End in Blood, but It Sure Looks Pretty Covered in It

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean Winchester, Freeform, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Murder, POV Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 10, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: So this would take place early season 10. After howling at the moon with Crowley instead of getting trapped by Sam, Dean escapes and Sam and Cas have to follow the trail of corpses to find him and try to bring him home so they can cure him.





	1. Chapter 1

The weight felt good in his hands. He saw his reflection in the mirrors hanging on the walls as he walked towards the front door. He smirked at the blood spatter on his skin. In the empty darkness, it could almost pass as ink sliding down his neck and smeared on his clothes. Flexing his hand he glanced around the room to view the wreckage. He had underestimated the father but welcomed the unexpected retaliation. It was always more enjoyable when they fought back. The plaster was cracked where he had slammed the mother against the wall, effectively snapping her delicate neck. The dining table was upturned with shattered dishes, remains of the family dinner pressed into the carpet where small bodies had cowered in fear in the face of the intruder killing their mom. He had to chase the children down after the father directed them to flee, but the trail of smashed noodles stuck to the girls’ feet had led him right to their hiding place in the hall closet. He would probably feel a little guilty when his mind threw up the images of terror on their small faces as they crouched in the morning, but first, he would memorize the feel of innocent blood dripping from his fingers, the sound of their screams as they begged. Especially the older sister. 

She had pleaded with him to spare her baby sister. His eyes had been drawn to where their hands were clasped together. He stared into her eyes his eyes flashed black and he snarled. He had ripped their throats out imagining it was the face of a little boy with gentle hazel eyes and floppy brown hair. He had slammed his fist into the wall reveling in the snap of bone in his hand and wrist. It fueled his anger and rage as he stalked back to the pleas of the living room. The father.  The guy was pathetic, the way his body slumped when he was told about his family’s gruesome demise. It was sickening. He had simply rolled his eyes at the man’s desperate pleas for death. He gripped the blade in his fist and swung. The father’s head slid from his shoulders while he slid bone into flesh over and over. Pieces of the father's corpse were distributed throughout the house, his blood painted on his wife’s face, his intestines hanging from the curtain rod, slices of his skin draped onto the couch and draped on the coat hanger. He had left a smiling surprise for Sammy in the fridge. 

 

He wanted to hide in the shadows just so he could see his "family's" faces when they uncovered his latest victims. Alas, he didn’t have time to linger. As weak and insufferable as his stalker of a brother was, he was also one smart son of a bitch and he could follow even a cold trail like nobody’s business. Not to mention the added bonus of a once-heavenly teammate. The blood lust was sated for the moment which meant it was time for him to get the hell out of dodge. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating changed from Mature to Explicit for this chapter!   
> Trigger Warnings for rape and graphic depictions of torture and violence. 
> 
> This one gets intense. A little darker than the last one.

Walking through the door with her thick legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her full breasts against his chest. She doesn’t even flinch when he snarls, thinks it’s a part of their little game. One night with a  _ man _ like him. She doesn’t care if he sinks his teeth into her. She thinks he just likes being rough. And oh, does he. He catches a glimpse of black in the bathroom mirror before he slams her onto the large bed. He chose this place because it’s so nice. He can stand the crappy moldy motels he once slept in every night, but there’s something so satisfying about painting four stars in pretty crimson. 

It likes when he toys with them. When he slits them open just to see what’s inside. That’s what made him choose her tonight. She had been sitting alone looking delicious in a pair of short shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. His mouth had filled with hot saliva just thinking about marking up her smooth creamy skin. His hands itched, his arm ached. It wanted her as badly as he did. It wanted to feel her ooze and drip from his fingers, from his lips. It had been too long the darkness seeping into his organs, feasting when he refused to provide the only sustenance it craved. 

That’s what led him to that fetid hole in the wall. The heady scent of desperation and need. He felt it as they did, only more. He had fought it for weeks, a tiny glimpse of humanity trying to break through. The bodies had piled up, yet the lust wouldn’t abate. Then tonight, walking by that dump, this siren called to him. Asking him to take her in every way possible. To consume her, savor every inch of her flesh. To devour her wholly and completely. Who was he to deny this pretty little slut her one true wish? 

At first, she liked it, wanted it. She craved each pass of calloused palms or rough tongue. She threaded her hands in his hair and moaned those sweet sounds that drove him crazy. When he gripped her wrists so hard he could feel the bone crack, she decided she no longer wanted to play his game. He tied her to the bed and drank in the sight of her. The fear in her eyes, the shiver coursing through her, the terror making her heart race. So conflicted when he dove between her wet thighs, drinking her in, licking up every sweet morsel. She didn’t want to feel the ecstasy he forced upon her. She begged for him to stop even as she bucked into his face. He drove her over the edge again and again until she was sobbing. The bitch just looked too damn pretty when she pleaded with him. It wasn’t enough. He needed more.

He decorated her with intricate designs, feral and raw, gentle and exact, wild and messy. She twisted against the ropes, he laughed. She wanted to know why. Why her. What did she do to deserve this? He told her. No use in lying. Who was she going to tell? He whispered in her ear all the things that brought him to her, the cravings he felt deep within his core. His need for her. For her flesh, for her bone, her blood, her tears, her cries for help...for her corpse. He told her about all of it as he slipped the blade between skin and sinew. As he exposed the muscles below. He sunk it deep within her. A new kind of phallus. One that gave him more pleasure than he could ever squeeze from the heavy cock between his legs. He entered her and fucked her, watched the light fade. 

He toyed with her long after it was over. Showcasing her best features as they deserved. He sliced the long red hair and shackled her into her final resting place. Sprays and splashes, gashes, and slices. Housekeeping would be in for quite the surprise.  One last thing before he leaves. His onyx gaze caught in the reflection. The best parts of her covering on him. Decorated with her lifeblood. He holds up the blade and twists it just slightly to watch it drip onto the sandy carpet beneath his boots. It bites into his skin as he prepares his offering. Slick on his fingertips, he drags it through the admission of death pooling in her gaping belly. Mixing them, smearing them over it, until he feels the warmth ease into his bloodstream. The wild sweep of his thoughts goes silent. He takes a breath, letting it guide him, tease him, lead him to the abyss. He paints her distorted image with ropes of pearly white and sneers. 

_ From me to you, Sammy.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is even worse...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is different than the other two. Focuses more on Dean's inner struggle.  
> WARNING: Lots of torture and heavy angst. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS. NOT a happy ending.

It looks exactly the same. Same dirt and grass, same decaying brick facade. But the feelings it evokes...those are different. Walking down these steps made him feel warm and welcome once upon a time, now he just feels cold, determined. He’s here for one purpose only, and it ain’t to reminisce. No, he’s back here to finally lose his fucking tail...for good. 

Little Brother and Heaven’s Reject are determined. He will give them that. Nothing he’s done, none of the scenes he left behind have turned them away. A few months ago it amused him, now it’s pissing him the fuck off. He’s tired of having a shadow. He longs to squash away the last bit of humanity that clings to his skin,  knowing they still believe he can fight It and win. That ‘his family’ hasn’t given up on him yet. 

He rolls his eyes and rams the door. It’s solid iron, designed to ward off evil and prevent breaches in security. It tries to keep him out.  _ Intruder!  _ His former home seems to shout. Maybe when he was weak and pathetic it would have been enough to turn him away, but now it simply fuels the fire inside him, adding to the rage. It whispers to him and he listens, a dutiful servant. Takes a step back and breathes when it instructs him to. Focuses on all of the unhappy souls within his power’s reach, inhales the pain and the suffering, the abandonment and sorrow. Dark energy builds within him, feeding It, expanding into every crevice until he worries he might burst. 

Now, wouldn’t  _ that _ be a sight to come home to... He can practically see Sam pulling up, getting out, walking down the familiar steps. Of course, the angel would be with him. Before descending to the front door, it would sense something unnatural, hesitate. Sam would ask what’s wrong. It would advise caution. They would finally continue, boots crunching through gravel sounding like the snap of a million bones. 

Would Sammy scream when he saw what was once a person splattered all over? Would he fall to his knees and vomit into the pools of blood? Try to avoid the chunks of tissue and bone wedged into the concrete? Or maybe...maybe he would just drop dead, right there. So overcome by hopelessness and defeat that his poor pathetic heart would just give out, leaving his tall lanky body to crumble into the remains of his big brother. 

 

A twisted smile of satisfaction appears on his face. He places both hands against the door and shoves. The heavy iron door finally swings open, reluctantly beckoning him inside. He descends the staircase but chooses his footsteps carefully. He pauses at the bottom, closing his dark eyes. Memories try to flood into every pore, but It doesn’t like that. It fights back and pushes them into the shadows. He can hear a heartbeat, quick, but steady. Not fear. Defense. Fight instead of flight. Will. He feels the steps vibrate through the soles of his feet, the breath on his skin the fist against his cheek. 

The itch builds, flowing from his arm into his chest, his belly, his legs, up into his brain. 

_ Blood dripping down your hands. No one controlling you. The apex predator. You want it, Dean. You need it. Go to her. Follow the path I laid before you. Take her. Make her scream. Show Castiel and Sam that their beloved Dean Winchester is gone, dead. Go now...do it...NOW!  _

Pain lances through his arm letting him know that he’s wasting too much time. 

Her sounds are easy to follow, grunts, snarls, smacks, and kicks. She doesn’t see him until he’s standing right behind her. She doesn’t scream when he rests an open palm against her cheek. Sweaty red strands stick to her face as she pants, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes wide, but alert. She knows why he’s here, but not why he’s being gentle. She probably assumed he would simply walk in, throw her down, and just off her. But this is a special occasion. He’s not going to rush it. It wants him to take his time with her. Because this one is what will finally break _him_. This one will convince Sam that there is no curing him, no going back to the good ol’ days. This one has to solidify that Dean Winchester is gone. 

When he snaps her wrist, she yelps. When he crushes her kneecap beneath his boot treads, she whimpers. When he pulls sharp bone from behind his back, she doesn’t flinch. She fights to maintain eye contact with him even as he pulls it across her pale skin. Black versus green. Red covering pasty white. She’s still talking. Won’t stop rambling about how it’s okay, she forgives him. 

_He doesn’t want your forgiveness!_

He wants solitude, freedom. His lip curls in a snarl. Why can't they just leave him alone! 

" It’s okay Dean, I forgive you. Sam will too. And Cas. We still love you, Dean. Always."  He leans forward, feels the needle-sharp points of his fangs split his gums. The swish of his tail and the lengthening of his claws. Her eyes widen for a moment before she continues babbling. 

_ Shut her up! End her! Take her between your teeth and toss her like a ragdoll-- _

_No! She still needs you! They need you!_

The voices in his head blur. Destruction, care, hatred, love. He can’t tell which is which. He wishes they would both be quiet. He shakes his head,  wraps his hand around her throat. Fear bleeds into her teary eyes. Something about this feels...wrong. 

_This isn't right. You know that. She trusts you. Like Sam. Like Cas. They trust you more than anyone. Don't throw that aw--_

_No! This IS right! This is what you WANT, what you NEED. You came here to sever the ties, to kill her! So do it! KILL HER!_

_ Try to remember the feeling of her soft red hair against your palm. Your hand was shaking with uncertainty, not sure you deserved forgiveness. She buried her face in your chest. The two of you stood there, together. A frightened little girl clinging to her big broth-- _

_NO! She's holding you back! THEY ALL ARE!_

He clenches his jaw, swallows down confusion and panic. A timid hand brushes his face, he growls and forces her to the ground. His body pins hers, stealing her breath. Still those fingers grasp his. He slams her hand against the concrete. This time she cries out. This time she yells for them.

" Sam! Cas! I need...back-up!" 

Good! He wants her to scream? He wants her to...beg. He sneers down at her and pushes up to his feet. She lies still on the floor, her eyes watching him. He snarls and kicks her hard enough to break her ribs. She whimpers, tears filling her eyes. She doesn’t cry though. He frowns, watching her swallow so she can speak, " It’s okay, Dean. I know it isn’t you. It's The Mark making you do this." 

Not him? He tosses his head back and laughs. She thinks this is from The Mark? It is...isn't it? Making him torture her? Convincing him to let go. He doesn't remember looking forward to monster's death throes but now he can't wait to his victims' desperate screams. 

He backs up against the wall, leans back and fists his hands in his hair. What does he want? What the hell is he doing! He closes his eyes and listens to the voices warring in his head. He isn't sure which one reminds him to breathe. He crosses his arms and takes a deep breath...takes in all of her pain, suffering, fear. His eyes roll back as her agony races through his veins. His breath quickens and his fingers twitch. He listens to the scuff of her sneakers against the concrete, the whimpers of pain when she jostles her broken bones. When she stands there panting, he opens his...black...eyes. 

"Dean. I know you’re still in there. I know you can hear me. We forgive you, Dean. It’s okay. We can make it through all of this. Just come back to us. Come back home…  "

His upper lip twitches and he narrows his eyes. He twists around and clenches his fist, slamming it into the concrete wall. He tilts his head one way and then the other, letting It guide him. He feels the needle-sharp points of his fangs split his gums. The swish of his tail and the lengthening of his claws. He turns to face her. She gasps and covers her mouth with a hand. 

He snarls, “Dean is gone! He’s dead! Why won’t you just give up and realize he’s  _ never COMING BACK!”  _ It only takes three steps for him to wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze. She scratches at his hands and kicks into empty air. He hears the echo of footsteps in the corridor and stills. This time he isn’t going to run. This time they’re going to see it all. No more hiding, all out in the open. 

" Dean! Don’t do this! Just let her go!" 

The angel rushes him, he flicks his wrist and its body goes careening into the concrete wall. It tries to rise, but he simply raises his fist and clenches it. He feels the angel's grace start to dissipate. It looks at him with sad blue eyes as the vessel drains completely. The angel inside finally dead.  

"Dean! Stop! You don’t have to do this! We can save you!" He clenches his jaw and snaps her delicate neck before turning to face his _brother_. 

“Save me? What makes you think that I  _ want  _ to be saved , hm? Why would I want to be a pathetic burdened  _ human _ when I can be a GOD!” His fist connects with Sam’s nose. Then his knee into little Sammy’s stomach. The other man doubles over. He doesn’t even pause. The Mark screams at him to finish it. 

_ Quit playing and kill him!  _

_ No! He's your brother! You don't want to kill him, do you?  _

He fists Sam’s hair. He pulls the distraught man up until he is slumped in front of him. He grips the blade in his hand, curling his fingers around the familiar hilt. Jerks Sam’s head back until hazel eyes are forced to meet pitch black. Sam drops the knife from his hand and clutches at his shoulders. 

“Please, Dean. Let me help you.” A tear falls down Sam’s cheek. 

“Let me save you.” 

 

 

Dean looks at the determination in Sam’s tired, scared eyes. Black slowly fades to green. His eyes water and his lip trembles. He furrows his brow, clenches his jaw as the first tears escape. Hope bleeds into the other man’s gaze. Dean turns away, but Sam coaxes him back with a hand to his chin. Pain and remorse flood through him, he’s drowning in intense regret, fueled by hopelessness. He remembers everything he did. Everyone he killed, including Charlie and Cas. Yet here’s Sam, still trying to save him. Still trying to pull him back from the brink. His hand at the back of Sam’s head softens until he’s cradling it in his palm.  

“You can’t save me, Sammy...” Dean squeezes his eyes closed and thrusts the First Blade into his brother’s chest. Nausea and grief wash over him as his little brother’s lifeless body slumps against him. He falls to his knees and cries into his dead brother’s hair. 

“I’m past saving.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos appreciated! Comments welcome as long as they are respectful and thoughtful.

**Author's Note:**

> MOC/Demon Dean is my favorite storyline in the series so I had to show a little love to the BAMF that is Dean Winchester.


End file.
